


The Cat's Pyjamas

by Esperata



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Cat/Human Hybrids, Fluff, LITERALLY, M/M, Transmutation, Transporter Malfunction, petting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-15 16:46:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18673585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esperata/pseuds/Esperata
Summary: There's been a slight mishap with the transporter, leaving McCoy feeling decidedly catty. But it just might turn out to have hidden benefits.





	The Cat's Pyjamas

**Author's Note:**

> Published in Spiced Peaches LVI

“Time to pack up your troubles Bones. We’ll be beaming you back aboard in a minute.”

“ _Ready when you are, Jim. And thanks again for the extra day._ ”

Jim smiled unseen.

“Not a problem.”

As he cut the communication he caught Spock looking at him curiously.

“You did not inform the doctor of the transporter malfunction?”

“Spock,” Jim explained. “McCoy’s nervous enough of the transporter as it is. What good would it do anyone to tell him about the slight hiccup we experienced?”

Spock opened his mouth, presumably to point out it was something more than a ‘slight hiccup’ but Jim swiftly turned to speak to Scotty.

“It’s all fixed now anyhow, isn’t it?”

“Aye,” Scotty agreed before a slight frown creased his brow. “Least I think so. We tested it with Mister Spock though now I think of it-”

“ _Jim?_ ” McCoy’s voice broke through the panel again. “ _What’s the holdup?_ ”

“Beaming up now,” Jim answered and gestured at Mister Scott.

Scotty hesitated a second before following the implicit order.

Moments later the shimmering form of Doctor McCoy appeared upon the platform and the good doctor grinned broadly at his friends.

“Boy.” He bounced happily on his heels. “I feel like the cats whiskers after that shore leave.”

Scotty coughed abruptly while Jim appeared to be choking back a laugh. McCoy turned his developing scowl onto Spock. The Vulcan had both eyebrows raised higher than McCoy could remember seeing them.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded.

Spock glanced at his companions. Mister Scott was already focused on the technical issues that he had more chance of dealing with than the storm brewing before them. Captain Kirk was still trying unsuccessfully to regain his composure.

It was at times like this that he understood the human impulse to sigh.

Regardless he turned his attention back onto the ticking time bomb that was the ship’s CMO. Who was rapidly losing patience if the body language was to be believed.

“During your absence there was a malfunction in the transporter programming.”

McCoy instinctively looked down at himself, patting his body as if to reassure himself it was real.

“So?” He glanced up again. “I’m all here aren’t I?”

“Oh, you’re more than here,” Jim chimed in gleefully.

McCoy arched an eyebrow at him in inquiry.

“You have gained several feline attributes,” Spock answered for the still somewhat breathless captain.

“What?!”

“From what I can observe, you now possess a tail, whiskers and feline ears.”

As Jim broke down into more helpless laughter, the doctor frantically reached up to feel the furry protrusions poking up from each side of his head before spinning about to watch his new tail agitatedly swishing.

“Well get rid of them dammit!”

Spock turned his attention back onto the engineer.

“Mister Scott?” he queried.

“Hhm?” The Scotsman looked up distractedly. “Oh! I dinnae take into account the different hereditary DNA o’ Vulcans and Humans when we ran the tests. I’m going to have to clear out all the programming and start rebuilding from scratch.”

“How long will that take?” McCoy demanded, finally stepping off the platform.

“Best guess… a week.”

“A week?! What am I supposed to do like this for a week?”

“Come on Bones.” Jim had finally recovered himself enough to join in. “It’s just a cosmetic difference. You probably won’t even notice after a day.”

McCoy hissed at him.

Spock blinked.

“It would seem the doctor has also been imbued with some behavioural characteristics.”

Jim glanced at Spock briefly, his surprise at being hissed at by a senior officer fading as his curiosity grew. McCoy was anxiously staring at his fingers as if expecting claws to sprout forth. The captain looked thoughtful for a second before determinedly reaching forward and stroking the doctor’s furry ear.

The reaction was completely instinctive.

Both ears flattened down, he hissed loudly and swiped a hand at the arm petting him. Jim flinched back.

“Dammit Jim!” McCoy moaned. “Don’t do that!”

“Alright, alright.” Jim held his hand up in surrender. “Guess I should consider myself lucky you haven’t got claws too.”

McCoy looked miserable.

“I’m sorry Jim.”

“That’s okay Bones.” Jim smiled reassuringly. “Why don’t we get you along to sickbay and see exactly what we’re dealing with here?”

^._.^

He was perfectly healthy according to every test they could think to run. It was just that he now sported a tail jutting out the top of his pants and a whole new set of autonomic responses. Short of providing him with a Caitian uniform to accommodate his tail there wasn’t anything further to be done.

With any other crewman the doctor would probably prescribe some time off to adjust, or counselling to help deal with the abnormality, however he was of the school of thought that others should do as he said not as he did. Which was why he ended up in much his usual place upon the bridge later that afternoon.

There were a few curious glances but no-one dared say anything about it. Mostly anyway.

“Doctor, your tail is obstructing my instruments.”

“I can’t help it!” McCoy made a grab for the swift moving object of their attention, only to growl softly as it evaded his grasp. “Damn thing doesn’t seem to do anything I want it to.”

“Perhaps you should sit further away?” Spock suggested.

McCoy crossed his arms and glared, ears subconsciously flattening.

“I _always_ sit here,” he replied stubbornly.

Spock hesitated over his reply. It was certainly true McCoy favoured that spot – which was precisely why he had long ago redirected all the instruments from that area – yet the doctor was not exactly sitting as usual either. He decided there was no use sugar coating his response.

“You are not normally perched up on the console. If you were merely reclined against it as usual then your tail would be at a lower elevation and out of the way.”

The way McCoy blinked suggested he had not realised he was sat higher than was his habit. For a second he contemplated his position – both literally and figuratively – before choosing to go back on the defensive.

“Well tough. I’m more comfortable up here and right now I think I deserve some concessions made while I adjust.”

Spock reached out suddenly and easily caught the flickering tail in his grasp. McCoy’s reaction was immediate and entirely predicatable as he hissed and flattened his ears completely.

“Spock! Bones!” Jim glared at the pair of them before letting out a long-suffering sigh. “Spock, let go of his tail. Bones, don’t sit on the workstation.”

There was a brief pause before Spock silently complied. A second later McCoy slipped down and out of his reach, cradling his tail round him protectively and side eying the Vulcan. As Jim turned back to his main business of running the ship, the tension lingered by the science station.

“Doctor,” Spock spoke quietly. “I trust I did not hurt you? That was not my intention.”

McCoy glanced at his tail and consciously let go of it. It swiped quickly back out of his hands.

“Nah,” he muttered. “You just startled me is all. And I’m sorry I was getting in your way.”

“Apology accepted. I understand it was not intentional on your part either. Ordinarily your presence is,” he hesitated to say ‘welcome’. “Less disruptive,” he finished.

The doctor nodded awkwardly and shifted on his feet.

“Guess I should be getting back to sickbay anyway.”

As he turned to leave Spock spoke again.

“You will still meet Jim and I for dinner after our shift?”

A blinding smile was flashed his way.

“I’ll be looking forward to it.”

^._.^

By dinner time the earlier contretemps was forgotten and McCoy seemed to be positively bouncing with good humour. Jim couldn’t help but smile warmly at the infectious cheeriness.

“A good shift Bones? You look like the cat that ate the canary.”

McCoy accepted the none too subtle teasing with friendly ease as he grabbed his usual meal card.

“This situation has had the benefit of bringing a few stragglers to their physicals through basic human curiosity,” he explained. “Seems everyone wants to see it for themselves before they’ll believe it.

Spock glanced around the dining hall as he waited for his companions to collect their trays. Now it had been pointed out he would hazard an estimate that there were a number of additional personnel gathered to share this meal slot. He wondered if this scrutiny would adversely affect the doctor’s current happy state. It was one thing to utilise their fascination to get them to attend his routine summons, another to be subject to it while he should be relaxing.

Without considering it further, he made sure to sit between McCoy and the rest of the room.

They all settled into place and the two humans began their normal habit of sharing gossip and insights, reminisces and jokes. Spock found it almost soothing. In the early days it had concerned him that they would expect him to join in but they never minded if he wanted to sit quietly. His comments were always welcomed but he knew they took no offence at his silence either.

It gradually dawned on him though that, while Kirk was eating with his usual enthusiasm, McCoy seemed to be almost ignoring his food and eventually he felt compelled to interrupt.

“Doctor.”

“Hhm?”

“Are you feeling quite well? You have barely touched your meal.”

“Oh.” He glanced down to his plate with some surprise. Jim looked too and it was clear now that McCoy had simply been pushing his salad about the plate rather than eating any. “I guess I’m not hungry.”

“Perhaps it is the choice of food that is not appealing,” Spock suggested.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You have inherited feline traits. To my knowledge, Earth cats are carnivores.”

They all looked back to the green leaves and colourful chunks of vegetables decorating McCoy’s plate.

“Be that as it may,” he replied stubbornly. “I am not about to gorge myself with meat. I’m _not_ a cat. It wouldn’t be healthy.”

As if to prove his point he speared some lettuce and ate it aggressively. Spock arched an eyebrow at the behaviour.

“I was not suggesting you restrict your diet merely incorporate more fare that would encourage your appetite.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to mix in a little chicken or fish,” Jim added.

The very mention of the additions made McCoy’s stomach growl and he flushed in embarrassment.

“I guess switching to a chicken caesar salad wouldn’t be so bad.”

Without further ado Spock collected his plate and moved back to the replicator to exchange it for a more protein rich dish. When he returned he could practically see McCoy’s mouth salivating as his eyes locked onto the food. Still he waited politely as Spock set it down and retook his seat.

“Thank you,” he murmured awkwardly.

“You are welcome.”

McCoy delved into his new meal with enthusiasm and resumed his conversation with Jim, almost as if he were willing the incident from their minds. His friends fell back into their normal routine unhesitatingly. They each knew after all that watching out for one another was eternal even if rarely referenced.

And if anyone noticed McCoy licking his fingers and swiping his hand through his hair intuitively after eating then no-one said anything.

^._.^

Spock didn’t put any store in ‘gut feelings’, although he knew his human companions did. It was fruitless to try and explain to them they were simply following subconscious signals that they could properly analyse if they were only willing to focus their minds.

For example, it was not baseless worry driving him to seek the doctor this afternoon. Statistics would show that, unless there were circumstances preventing it, McCoy would make a visit to the bridge at least once per day. Given their idle conversation over lunch it was apparent that sickbay did not have any pressing business which would require the CMO. Therefore it would be expected that he would join them to break up his own day as well as to check the bridge crew were operating efficiently.

The logical conclusion therefore was that something had happened to derail his usual routine and it behove the First Officer to find out what it was.

Jim was less analytical about it.

“Best check he’s not started chasing a ball of yarn around,” he suggested with a sly smirk as Spock requested permission to investigate.

The idea was outlandish but not actually preposterous given the state of affairs and on reaching sickbay he entered with a degree of hesitation.

Everything appeared peaceful and quiet. Nurse Chapel looked up from her desk and smiled softly at him.

“Mister Spock,” she spoke quietly. “Is there something I can help you with?”

He cast another glance around, half expecting to see McCoy come blustering out of his office upon recognising the visitor to his domain. It was another anomaly to add to his mental tally when he did not materialise.

“I was merely checking Doctor McCoy was continuing to maintain control of his situation,” he explained placidly.

A warm smile lit up Chapel’s face and she stood to move around her desk.

“Yes,” she answered carefully, “although it is having an effect on him.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Well, normally he’s quite… shall we say, highly strung? Running on caffeine when we’re busy and anxious when we’re not. Always anticipating the next disaster.”

“I have noted the doctor’s predilection for pessimism before. Although it is not always without grounds.”

“No,” she agreed. “He’s a fine physician and undoubtedly well prepared for anything that comes our way. However I have wished on occasion he would take better care of _himself._ ”

Spock nodded. It was a point both he and Jim had endeavoured to make to the doctor before, often with little success.

“And how have recent events changed this?” he enquired, not sure whether to expect good news or bad.

Chapel however smiled again and walked silently to the door leading to the main ward. Spock followed and looked in as indicated. There, curled up on a biobed, seemingly fast asleep was Doctor McCoy.

“He declared he was going to take a nap,” Christine said with a mixture of fondness and amusement.

Spock cast a quick glance up to the readings on the monitor and noted they were all within acceptable parameters. He felt himself relax fractionally.

“Don’t wake him,” Christine asked gently. “He doesn’t get as much sleep as he should.”

He nodded his acknowledgement and noted her leaving him to his observations. With no reason not to, and a vague sense of curiosity, he walked across to better observe the feline doctor. Initially he focused his attention of the screen above the bed, comparing the measurements with anticipated resting rates, before letting his eyes drop down to his friend. It was not often he got to look at him so closely without notice.

There were signs of dreaming in the twitch of his eyelids and pointy furred ears, although the perennially moving tail was for once still. Spock couldn’t help but think of all the times the man had commented upon his own pointed ears and he found his gaze lingering upon them. Something about the increasing signs of disturbed rest combined with the downy fur now adorning him drew his hand forward in a comforting gesture and he found himself running his fingers through soft hair.

McCoy released a slow breath and his face turned as he pressed his head firmer against Spock’s hand. For a long second the Vulcan dared not move but then he cautiously resumed his caresses. He continued just long enough for McCoy to settle back into a peaceful sleep before hastily withdrawing his tingling hand.

As he retreated from the unexpectedly intimate scenario, he couldn’t help but touch his fingers together and remember the pressure of the doctor’s temple as he nuzzled against him.

^._.^

He was aware he’d overstepped a boundary. He knew it was inappropriate to touch someone in such a fashion without their awareness and consent. However he did not know how to address the issue. The doctor did not know that anything had happened after all. Should Spock tell him? Wouldn’t that simply have the effect of making McCoy feel uncomfortable and taken advantage of, especially given his sensitivity over his altered appearance?

Spock knew that if it was simply a case of exceptional circumstances producing a unique reaction then he would have no hesitation in explaining his actions. Previous experience showed McCoy to be most understanding and forgiving of what might be termed in humans an emotional reaction, despite Spock’s logical reasoning that such actions had been for the sole purpose of providing his human friend with recognisable support.

Yet the very fact that he was amassing a history of such examples was itself suggestive and he was struggling to ignore the heightened impulse now to interact more closely with the doctor. It was certainly insulting to them both for him to suggest it was merely a wish for tactile sensation that could as easily be acquired from a pet. Spock knew the desire for touch was drawing on the deeper connection he already shared with McCoy which no-one else could replicate.

His response therefore was to cut himself off from temptation entirely. It was the only reasonable response. To await the time when Mister Scott could restore the doctor and Spock would no longer have this additional impetus to contend with. It was a fool proof plan.

Except for one detail.

McCoy stood at his door, eyes cast aside and tail drooping low.

“Sorry to be bothering you so late Spock. Its just… I need to talk to you. Don’t reckon I’ll be able to rest properly until I do.”

“Of course.” Spock stepped aside, unable to refuse such a plea. He should have anticipated the CMO would have matters he needed to discuss with the ship’s First Officer. His attempts to conceal his emotional state had clearly distracted him from the responsibilities he owed.

He half expected McCoy to take a seat but was not unduly alarmed when he did not. It probably indicated this was meant to be a fleeting visit.

“How may I be of assistance?” he enquired politely, his glance noting the twitching tail. It seemed as if McCoy hadn’t heard him as for a few more moments his gaze continued to flicker around the room. Then he straightened his spine and met the Vulcan’s gaze head on.

“Do I make you uncomfortable Spock?”

The question surprised him and he blinked silently while he tried to form a suitable reply.

“I do not understand why you would ask such a question?” He tried to convey a negative response, not wanting to confess he was embarrassed by his own reaction to his friend.

McCoy huffed in a familiar gesture of annoyance.

“I’m asking because for the last two days you’ve been avoiding me,” he snapped. “Is it because of the tail? I know it can be irritating. I’m the one that has to put up with it twenty-four seven.”

He glared down at the now increasingly twitchy appendage as if accusing it of wilful disobedience.

“I assure you, your tail does not in the least disturb me.”

The reassurance did nothing to comfort McCoy and if anything he looked even more upset.

“Then it’s my habits isn’t it?” he declared. “I swear Spock half the time I don’t even know I’m doing things but if you tell me I’ll make a conscious effort to stop-”

Spock held up his hands to stop the verbal torrent.

“Doctor, you have done nothing wrong. If there has been any fault then it is mine.”

“Yours? What’s that meant to mean?”

And it was at that point Spock realised his only option was to confess and hope for forgiveness. He gestured for McCoy to take a seat with a quiet resigned sigh.

“I visited you in sickbay,” he began, taking his own place along from McCoy.

“When was that?” The doctor frowned as he clearly tried to place the event.

“Two days ago. You were sleeping at the time.”

“Oh.” The doctor’s gaze once again dropped. “Do you think I’m no longer fit for duty, is that it? And you’re berating yourself for not-”

“No,” Spock interrupted him swiftly. “It is perfectly understandable with our schedules that rest should be taken whenever possible. I was in fact reassured to see you were doing so.”

“Then I don’t understand. What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing. You did nothing wrong Doctor.” Spock took the opportunity of McCoy’s confusion to pause and savour the last moments of tranquillity before he admitted his failing. “I am sorry to say that I acted inappropriately.”

That only intensified the expression of confusion.

“Inappropriately how?”

“As I said, you were sleeping, however your slumber appeared to me uneasy. I… acted on instinct and attempted to offer comfort.”

“That doesn’t sound inappropriate,” McCoy hazarded. “In fact I’d say it sounds like the decent thing to do.”

“Perhaps, in other circumstances,” Spock allowed. “Yet, I do not believe that on being awake you would have welcomed such an action. As such, it was a breach of trust on my part and I apologise for it.”

The Vulcan endeavoured not to flinch under the searching look now being levelled at him.

“Perhaps we should test that before you throw yourself on your sword,” McCoy suggested. “How about you repeat the action now and I’ll tell you if it would have been welcomed or not.”

For once Spock could not fault the doctor’s logic yet he still hesitated. The fact remained that the action provoked emotions that he was unsure were wise to be acknowledged. But he could hardly refuse the proposed test without admitting that further breach of friendship. Therefore he cautiously reached forward a hand.

McCoy watched it with almost scientific curiosity, scotching Spock’s last hope that his gesture would be rejected before he had to make actual contact. Resigned now, he determined to reproduce his previous action with exactitude and slid his hand quickly up and over the lightly furred ear. The reaction was immediate but not at all what he predicted.

The head beneath his hand pressed itself against his palm and the doctor’s eyes slid shut. Too astonished to properly categorise the result, Spock instinctively repeated his gesture to test whether the response was autonomic or something consciously recognised.

This produced a new effect, equally surprising, and he froze with his fingers buried in the man’s hair.

“Doctor… are you purring?”

Heavy lidded eyes opened and peered sleepily up at him.

“Hmm,” he hummed. “Its nice.”

Spock slowed his movements and concentrated on flexing his fingers against the scalp. He watched in fascination as McCoy arched towards the touch.

“I see I was hasty in my assessment,” he concluded. “You do not seem opposed to gesture.”

An amused snort met this statement.

“I can’t believe you’ve been ignoring me for two days because you thought I wouldn’t like this.”

“It was a logical deduction,” Spock protested. “You have not appreciated anyone remarking upon your feline attributes.”

“Yes well, this is different. This is _you._ ” He opened his eyes fully to meet Spock’s gaze. “You’ve always meant something different to me Spock. Something special.”

Spock swallowed as he recognised the implication in the confession.

“You mean, you would allow such gestures from me, but not others?”

“I’m saying I’d happily let you pet me Spock. As much as you’d like.”

It was an invitation and a submission than he couldn’t refuse, even if he wanted to.

“Touch is an important part of wellbeing.” He reached out his hand again and McCoy moved closer to allow easier access, his eyes shifting shut once more. “I believe it could well be to both our benefit to indulge with relative frequency.”

“I’d be willing to endorse that. As chief medical officer.” His eyes opened again and he grinned teasingly at Spock. In retaliation, the Vulcan rubbed his palm around the base of McCoy’s ear making the man purr loudly.

“Oh! Do that again.”

He curled himself up comfortably so his head rested in Spock’s lap and the Vulcan could pet him effortlessly without reaching up.

“Maybe,” McCoy murmured drowsily, “I don’t need to get rid of these additions as soon as Scotty fixes the transporter?”

Spock wasn’t sure it was intended as a question yet he answered it anyway.

“I shall be happy to pet you either way.”

A happy purr told him his this proposal was definitely welcome.


End file.
